


Stress Relief

by wanderingflame



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-08
Updated: 2010-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingflame/pseuds/wanderingflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fist fight between the boys leads to something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stress Relief

The floating upwards feeling he had when coming out of the Animus always reminded Desmond of surfacing after a deep dive. Although instead of breaking free of water and breathing fresh air, these days he would break free of clinging memories as he struggled to find his own. His eyes still closed, he sorted through everything his senses were telling him until he was sure he was back in the present.

“I'm just saying that if Sleeping Beauty here would stop leaping off buildings left and right, maybe we'd actually make some _bloody_ progress.”

“Shaun.” Lucy's tone held a note of warning.

“Well at this rate we might as well hang a neon sign outside that says, 'Hey Templars, over here!'”

“Shaun!”

Desmond finally opened his eyes and saw Lucy standing to his right, facing off with Shaun who had stood up from his chair.

“If you think it's so easy, why don't you plug in,” Desmond interjected sourly as he say up. “You can see for yourself how fun it is to hit the street from 10 stories up.”

“Desmond!” Lucy turned to give him a sharp look but before she could say more, Shaun threw up his hands and stalked out. If there had been a door, he probably would've slammed it. Desmond glared after him, knowing his comment hadn't helped but he'd been telling the truth. Not every moment in the Animus was a joyride and the occasional misjudged leap—and eventual crunch against the cobblestones—was disturbingly real. Even though he knew it was a memory, his muscles still ached with phantom pain.

Lucy sighed and moved back to her desk as Desmond glanced at Rebecca. The tech was chewing her lip and glancing between Lucy and the doorway, looking very much like the kid caught between her arguing parents. He switched his gaze to Lucy, who dropped into her chair and put her face in her hands. Desmond felt an uneasy twist in his stomach. Shaun's snarky comments were par for the course but he usually didn't end an argument by stomping out; in fact, he was almost always the victor and practically radiated smugness afterward.

“What am I missing?” he asked warily, looking between the two women. Lucy raised her head and sighed, looking tired.

“We got news of another team lost while you were in the Animus. Shaun was pretty close with one of the members,” she explained. “He's been on a hair trigger all morning.”

“Oh.” Way to go Desmond. Just open mouth, insert foot. He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh...sorry?” Lucy chuckled.

“Don't worry about it. We're all stressed out and there's no way you would've known. Look, why don't we take a break? Get up, walk around—or rest, if you'd like. Once Shaun's cooled down, we'll get back to work.”

“You should've seen him back when I rescued him from Abstergo's clutches,” Rebecca remarked. “I made him hide out in a bunker for a week and by the time we left, he'd nearly killed me at least twice. Shaun does _not_ do helpless well.” She shrugged as if to say, “But what can you do?” and then turned back to her computer.

Since he didn't feel like resting anymore, Desmond got up and left the room. All the doors in the hall were closed, the red light next to them showing they were locked. He wondered if Shaun was behind one, sulking, and immediately felt bad for thinking that. Losing a friend wasn't easy and if he was going to be a raging monster, better he do it alone.

He felt a sharp pain in his chest and was overcome for a moment by the ache of seeing his father and brothers hanging from the ropes--

No. Desmond clamped down hard on that thought and found he was clenching his hands into fists so tight, he had half-moon marks on his palms from his nails. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to relax. As exhilarating as the Animus could be at times, there were other memories he wished they could have fast-forwarded through. Especially now that the feelings were starting to bleed over into this world. Lucy hadn't seemed concerned that he was seeing things, as long as they passed quickly. He wasn't yet ready to admit he was having flashes of his ancestors' thoughts in his head, especially not after Shaun had so gleefully pointed out that multiple personality disorder was a symptom of the Bleeding Effect. As far as he knew, _he_ was still the one in control but it was still disorienting as hell.

Desmond sighed and headed for the warehouse. He really didn't have a lot of choices outside the Animus but flexing his newly awoken climbing skills was at least more fun than lying on a bed in a restless fog. He decided to try running through the exercise with the security controls to see if he could reach them more quickly.

As he reached the bottom of the ramp and moved deeper into the warehouse, though, he was treated to another fun round of Desmond's special blend of crazy. This time as the world shifted and the ghostly people appeared, he saw there were more than last time including a horse-drawn carriage that was steadily bearing down on him. Despite the voice in his head shouting – _This is just a hallucination!_ \--he reacted on instinct and dodged to the side to avoid being run over. The carriage passed by, unaware of the near-miss and fading soon after, and Desmond tried to calm his racing heart. That's when he realized he wasn't alone.

Shaun was leaning against a stack of crates a few feet away, arms crossed and face set in a scowl. It was clear he'd chosen this spot for its relative privacy but aside from a brief glance at Desmond, he paid him no attention. Desmond thought of how stupid he must have looked, jumping out of the way of nothing, and scrambled to think of something to say to fill the silence.

“Look, I'm sorry about what I said,” he began awkwardly as he walked closed. “Lucy told me about the other team and--”

“Don't.” Shaun cut him off with one word and a finger raised in warning, not even looking at him. That alone should have warned Desmond of Shaun's mood but he found the abrupt dismissal even more annoying than the usual quick retort.

“What is your problem?” he snapped. “I was _trying_ to be nice.” Shaun turned slowly to face him.

“My problem, Desmond? My problem is that there are far too many of them and not enough of us. My _problem_ , dear Desmond, is that we're running on a very short clock but every time it seems we're close to what we need, _someone_ goes and gets himself desynchronized. And apparently, I'm the only one who finds this to be a problem. How about this? How about we just skip the heart-to-heart and get back to doing some bloody work, okay? Then maybe we'll actually get out of here alive instead of waking up to find the Templars knocking down our door.” Shaun flashed him a thin-lipped smile—more like a grimace really—and started to walk by and that's when Desmond's patience snapped.

Shaun was taking his anger at his friend's death out on him, when he was trying to do the best he could, thank you very fucking much. He didn't ask for this life—hell, he'd _run_ from it years ago—but he was here now and he had a score of his own to settle, so he was all-in. Maybe they were all in danger from the Templars but Desmond was the only one walking down the path towards insanity.

As Shaun brushed past him, Desmond grabbed his arm. He wasn't surprised when Shaun responded by throwing a punch but what _did_ surprise him was how quickly he reacted. Almost as if he'd expected Desmond to stop him from leaving. Desmond ducked the attack, grabbed Shaun's shirt and swung his own fist. He was practically itching with the desire to smash the smart-ass's face in, so he was again surprised when Shaun managed to raise an arm in time to block Desmond's fist and then twisted the hand holding his shirt, forcing Desmond to release him. They both paused then, re-evaluating the other. Desmond flexed his hand, working out the twinging pain, and felt a grin spreading across his lips. The prospect of an all-out fight was suddenly a lot more exciting than just beating Shaun into the floor. He didn't even had to provoke the other man; his grin was enough of a taunt.

As they traded blows rapidly—Desmond relying on instinct while Shaun clearly had training—Desmond thought they seemed evenly matched. They certainly connected enough that if they'd been armed, both would be bleeding. Desmond's heart was racing, the adrenaline singing in his veins and making him feel more alive than any other time he could recall. Even time in the Animus wasn't this invigorating. He knew he was grinning recklessly but couldn't help it; he even laughed once as he dodged a swipe and moved quickly enough to get behind Shaun and grab him in a choke-hold. In contrast, Shaun was silent— _so unlike Malik who hissed and spat curses when they fought,_ especially _when he pinned him_.

Shaun seemed to sense the change in Desmond—the slight weakening in his grip—and shoved them both backwards, trying to headbutt Desmond as they collided with a wall of crates. The blow didn't quite land, but Desmond—in the middle of saying, “Fucking shut up!” to himself—bit his lip when his head hit the boxes. At that brief taste of blood, Desmond had to struggle to stave off memories— _Cowardly_ bastardo! _Throwing a rock!_ —and remind himself he _wasn't_ in Italy and he _wasn't_ fighting Vieri de'Pazzi and his thugs. Shaun used the momentary distraction to break free, elbowing Desmond so that he hunched with a whoosh of expelled air, then turning to smash his fist into Desmond's mouth. There was definitely blood on his tongue now and Desmond spit to the side, snarling a curse as he lunged for Shaun again. He barely registered the brief flicker of surprise on Shaun's face and wouldn't find out until later that he'd cursed in Italian.

He batted aside Shaun's attempts to grab him, got a fistful of Shaun's hair, and yanked the man's head down as he brought his knee up. Shaun tried to twist away, his hands rising to Desmond's hips to shove him away, but Desmond felt the blow connect with grim satisfaction. He left go and watched Shaun stumble back, blood streaming from his nose. Amazingly, his glasses were only slightly askew and his nose didn't look broken. Shaun brushed an arm across his face to wipe away some of the blood and then came at Desmond again.

They were both breathing heavily now as they swung and ducked and circled each other, but Shaun still managed to look irritatingly controlled in his movements. Desmond was beginning to wonder which one would tire first when Shaun suddenly ducked under his punch and stepped uncomfortably close in a blur of movement he hardly saw. He grabbed Desmond's hoodie with both hands and twisted to one side as his foot hooked around behind Desmond's. There was no way for Desmond to recover and as he fell, he had enough time to think, “What the fuck?” and then they were crashing to the floor. His ass hit first but unfortunately did not absorb enough momentum to save his head from bouncing off the metal. Shaun's weight landing on him was the cherry on top, driving the breath from him so he could do little more than lie there, stunned.

Desmond had a few ironic moments of blessed peace—no Templar worries, no stray thoughts from long-dead ancestors—before his brain kick-started back into life. He struggled for a moment under Shaun and then froze, quickly coming to several realizations. First, Shaun was sitting on him—more like sprawled over him—one hand pinning his right arm and the other braced across his throat not quite enough to choke, but a warning nonetheless. He had also somehow entwined his legs with Desmond's, making it very difficult to move.

The second thing Desmond realized was that at some point during the fight, he had gotten a little “excited” and Shaun's ass was currently squashing the bulge in his jeans in a not entirely uncomfortable way. And finally, judging by the hardness pressed into his abdomen, Shaun was a little “excited” himself. The smack to the head had knocked most of the anger out of Desmond and as the silence stretched on, he could feel his face heating up. He went through several potential conversation starters in his head but couldn't think of anything that wasn't awkward as hell. The silence was killing him, though, so he opened his mouth to say _something_ and that's when Shaun bent over to cover it with his own. Desmond was so shocked he couldn't react, even when a tongue slipped into his mouth to brush coaxingly against his own. Then Shaun moved ontop of him, giving his trapped erection the friction he desperately craved and startling a groan out of him. Shaun's lips curled into a smirk against his.

“Do you ever bloody shut up?” he murmured but kissed him again before he could answer. This time, Desmond responded hungrily, trying to lose himself in it as surprisingly similar memories surface—and he did _not_ need to know _that_ about his ancestors, especially not _both_ of them.

There was blood in their kiss and they were practically warring with their tongues and teeth as Desmond strained against the grip holding him down. Shaun was no longer choking him but both his arms were pinned. The Brit shifted to bring their hips more inline and then rocked hard against him, causing Desmond to break their liplock with a gasp. Shaun did it again, almost like he was trying to drive Desmond through the floor, and moved his mouth down Desmond's throat, teeth scraping lightly.

“So tell me, Desmond,” Shaun said as he slowly sat up, the movement rubbing teasingly against Desmond's crotch, pulling a groan from him. “Do you fuck as well as you fight?” For a moment, Desmond's brain stopped working and although he realized he was staring with his mouth slightly agape, he could not form a single coherent thought. Shaun had released his grip on Desmond's arms when he sat up and watched the pinned man with his usual smirk, but it had taken on a new edge with the lust in his eyes, his disheveled hair and crooked glasses. He still had blood on his face and Desmond had the crazy urge to sit up and lick it off. He felt a grin tug at his lips as his brain finally started working again.

“So now I'm allowed to talk?” he asked. Shaun rolled eyes eyes with a long-suffering sigh even as Desmond clenched a hand in his sweater to drag him down for another kiss. They bumped noses as their mouths met and Shaun hissed in pain. He nipped at Desmond's lips in response, his tongue rasping over the split he'd caused with his earlier punch and now Desmond was the one flinching. A low chuckle rumbled in Shaun's chest at this but Desmond grabbed the other man's hips and bucked up, causing them both to shudder with pleasure.

“Wanker,” Shaun muttered against his mouth but there was a smile in his voice and his hands were at Desmond's waist, working to get his jeans open.

“Desmond?”

Lucy's voice caused them both to freeze. The call came from above them, in the direction Desmond would have guessed the door was. In the pause that followed, Desmond strained his ears but didn't hear any footsteps. Thankfully, they were out of sight if she stayed where she was.

“Yeah?” he called back and Shaun fixed him with a glare that clearly said, “You bloody idiot, what are you doing?” Desmond didn't know how to convey “There's only so many places I could be” in one look so he just shrugged.

“Have you seen Shaun? He hasn't come back yet.” Shaun shot him a look that promised violence if he revealed anything else and considering where his hands currently were, Desmond did _not_ want to tempt him.

“Uh, no, haven't seen him,” he replied and Shaun rolled his eyes upward, as if seeking patience from the heavens.

“Okay. I don't think he would have left...” This last part was quieter, as if she were just thinking out loud. Another pause and then, “What are you doing in here, anyway?”

“Practicing what I've picked up from Ezio.” _Only you don't know the half of it,_ he continued silently, thinking of the flash of memory that had followed that first kiss and trying not to snicker at the irony.

“Oh, good idea. Well, I guess I'll give Shaun a few more minutes to calm down and then we'll get back to work.”

“Sounds good.” Desmond only relaxed once he heard the sound of her footsteps receding.

“Brilliant acting there, Desmond. Did you pick that up in bartending school?” Shaun quipped and it was so strange hearing his usual dry tone even as he undid Desmond's jeans and slipped a hand inside.

“Well I didn't want her to come look—aah!” Desmond bit off a startled yelp as Shaun's fingers squeezed, almost painfully, around his dick. Shaun began to stroke him slowly and Desmond struggled to muster up a warning glare, finding himself suddenly breathless. Shaun—damn him—just smirked as he pulled Desmond free of his boxers.

“Guess there's no time for the main course,” he said in mock-disappointment and Desmond frowned in confusion.

“The main—fuck!” Once again, Desmond was forced to grit his teeth against further curses as Shaun bent over and swallowed him nearly to the root. Suddenly encased in slick heat, Desmond fell back against the floor, barely noticing the sharp pain from the lump on the back of his head. Shaun began to suck and Desmond's world narrowed to focus on just that part of his body. It felt like heaven. It had been _so long_ and Shaun was amazingly good at this, though a small part of Desmond's mind pointed out it should be no surprise he was so talented with his mouth. That voice was quickly shoved aside when Shaun swirled his tongue around the head of the dick in his mouth and Desmond's hips nearly came off the floor. Shaun's hands held him down as he continued the oral torment and Desmond was hard-pressed to stifle the sounds that were wrought out of him. He wasn't surprised when he soon felt a tingling building within him.

“Shaun,” he said breathlessly, thinking he ought to warn him. He was so close and wanted nothing more than to just let go. Shaun came off him with a lewd, wet sound that almost undid Desmond right then and there, especially with his cheeks flushed and lips reddened and slightly swollen. He lunged forward to claim Desmond's mouth with a hungry kiss, his hand stroking roughly several quick times and then Desmond was moaning into Shaun's mouth as he unraveled, hips jerking helplessly as he was caught in the crest of pleasure. He was still panting when Shaun broke their kiss and ducked his head, grinding against Desmond once, twice, before freezing and letting out a shuddering breath against his neck. He fell onto Desmond in a boneless sprawl but Desmond didn't complain. He was so blissfully relaxed, he didn't even care that his dick was still hanging out of his pants or that his head was throbbing. Everything seemed insignificant in the aftermath.

After a couple minutes, Shaun stirred, sitting up and wiping his hand on Desmond's sweatshirt, despite the outraged squawk this prompted.

“Well you don't see a box of tissues or a roll of paperwork towels just lying about, now do you?” Shaun replied, but he was smiling and his tone lacked its usual sharp edge. He leaned in to kiss Desmond again, languidly this time, and Desmond felt his irritation melt away. Shawn pulled away eventually and stood, chuckling when Desmond quickly—almost awkwardly, with a faint pink tinging his cheeks—tucked himself back into his pants. He made a face at the sticky mess on his sweatshirt and carefully peeled it off, balling it up and then wondering what to do with it. He hadn't seen any laundry machines here. Shaun pulled at the crotch of his slacks with a brief frown, clearly dealing with a different mess. He caught Desmond watching him and flashed his usual, forced-cheerful smile.

“I'm going up to change. _You_ should probably let Lucy know we won't be needing a search party. Give me that.” Shaun held out his hand and Desmond handed over the soiled sweatshirt, feeling a little naked in just his t-shirt and jeans. Desmond opened his mouth as Shaun turned to leave and the other man paused, looking back expectantly.

“You, uh...” Desmond wondered how best to phrase what he wanted to say and was annoyed to feel his cheeks were still warm. “You mentioned a 'main course'?” He tried to make it sound like a challenge and thought, watching the hungry light flicker in Shaun's eyes, that he might have actually succeeded.

“That I did,” Shaun murmured and then walked away, heading towards the ramp leading out. Desmond stared after him dumbly for a minute, then shook his head and chuckled. He should have known it wouldn't be that simple.

There was no hiding the split lip and missing sweatshirt, especially with no bathroom of his own to wash up in—like Shaun—so Lucy noticed as soon as he walked into the room. When she came over for a closer inspection, growing more concerned when she noticed blood on his knee, Desmond tried to shrug it off as an accident. The doubtful look on her face wavered and for a moment, he thought she might accept this explanation. Then Shaun walked in. One quick glance at the Brit showed he'd changed his sweater and slacks and cleaned up his face, but his nose was still obviously swollen and he had missed the blood on the collar of his undershirt. Rebecca's eyebrows shot up and she quickly turned her attention back to her screen even as Lucy glared at them both.

“We're supposed to be fighting the Templars,” she snapped, hands on her hips, “ _not_ each other. Jesus, you two, is this going to be an issue? Because we don't have the time or the resources to work out a transfer.”

“It's not a problem,” Desmond said, trying to sound neutral as he sat down on the Animus chair. Shaun moved over to his usual perch, throwing a cool look over his shoulder.

“We're both still alive, aren't we?” he pointed out and turned his back to the room. Lucy threw up her hands with a disgusted “Men!” and walked back to her chair. As Desmond lay back, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shaun glance over his shoulder again. There was a slight upward twist to his lips and a smoldering heat in his eyes that stayed with Desmond even as he smiled and fell into his sleepless dreams of Italy.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the AC kink meme and originally posted [here](http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/16841.html?thread=1412553#t1412553).
> 
> It also spawned a sequel: [Long Overdue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/250384)


End file.
